


Before the storm

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Series: Life after the end of the world [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Slice of Life, an au where they left Alexandria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: A storm is coming. Everyone prepares. Rick worries: the supply team is not back yet.Or: this thing between Rick and Daryl. It's not how it begins, and yet it is.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, mentioned others - Relationship
Series: Life after the end of the world [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579510
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> It's Christmas Eve and here I come bearing gifts~! Gift number one is this story.  
> Please be aware that it's part of a larger series of AU one-shots I'll be posting at random intervals. So if things aren't explained here, they will be in other parts. Just know that it's a big fix-it where nobody dies and everyone lives happily ever after in domestic bliss on a farm somewhere near Roanoke.  
> Merry Christmas!

The late summer air is warm and humid with the promise of rainfall at night. It’s been a good six days since last it rained and everyone’s hoping for a good downpour. The crops could definitely use some extra water. Because of the recent droughts, Rick’s been hesitant about manually watering them more often than once a day even though he knows it’s not optimal for the future harvest yield. The thing is, with the northern tank contaminated and the low surface level on the creek, he doesn’t want to risk a shortage of drinking water for the entire settlement. Until Daryl’s group return from their run with industrial filters, he’s got no choice but to consider implementing the rationing of water. 

This rain could help avoid it, though. 

“Make sure to set up all containers we have,” he reminds Sasha and the others. They know what to do, everyone does, but Rick’s aware they prefer to have him tell them explicitly. His leadership this time is not a forced dictatorship like it used to be back before the prison or right after Alexandria. He’s been elected mayor in an official vote at the beginning of spring and nobody’s told him he sucks at the job, yet.

“I had the boys dig up some temporary wells, lined them up with those plastic tarp sheets Dixon dragged in last month,” Abraham says. “It was Eugene’s idea,” he admits grudgingly before Rick can commend his good thinking. “That son of a dick, you wouldn’t believe half the bullshit he spews out of his mouth, but damn if he doesn’t have some fan-fucking-tastic ideas in him.”

“Thanks for taking care of it,” Rick says. It doesn’t matter who came up with what, in the end; Abraham’s the one who got it done and Rick thinks it’s important to praise any action that results in the good of the community. He does make a mental note to thank Eugene for the idea later, too.

If there’s indeed going to be rain tonight, like it seems to be the general consensus, it’d be beneficial to collect any excess of water they can. Rick’s got half a mind to have everyone bring out their pots, bowls and mugs and set them outside to catch some more rain. It’d be ridiculous; he can imagine Daryl’s face at coming back to see all porches littered with dishes. 

If he recalls correctly, they did something similar in the prison once, they gathered rainwater when the pumps broke down and they didn’t have the parts to fix them. It was in the beginning, when they were just settling down. Lori was very pregnant and couldn’t exactly help carry the water-filled containers, so she made herself useful brewing everyone herbal tea afterwards, using the mix of leaves Daryl taught her to recognize in the woods. It was actually the best tea they’d had in months even though it was slightly muddy. Lori glowed when everyone thanked her, and for a moment there, she looked just like the girl Rick fell in love with so many years ago.

It’s funny, really, the reluctant bond that grew during that time between Lori and Daryl. They started out as two people from completely different words, two people who despised one another just because their views on life clashed horribly. But then Daryl started to give up food to pass it along to Lori - _for lil’ ass-kicker_ , he used to say - and Lori noticed, and she made an effort to include Daryl in conversations, even just small talk, because she didn’t know how else to show she was grateful.

And Daryl, from the start, knew how to read people. Knew what they needed, how they worked. So he took Rick hunting when Rick needed to get away, and he let Carol reminisce and cry on his shoulder when she missed Sophia too much; and he taught Lori how to tell edible plants from the poisonous, how to brew herbal potions for the most common ailments, and how to tell which mint leaves were best for chewing and which would be better off dried and made into tea - all because he sensed how Lori wanted to be useful to the group instead of always being a burden. He understood her better those days than Rick ever did. 

Daryl was good with people, even though he didn’t seem to realize how good. He still is.

“Think they’ll be back before it starts?” Maggie asks, looking up at the sky that’s still cloudless. Normally, she’d have gone with the supply team, but her pregnancy is too far along now and she knows she wouldn’t be of much help hauling heavy filtering equipment from the depot in the outskirts of Roanoke. The team that went was hand-picked by Daryl based on how much stuff they could carry in the event of the truck going to shit, so only some of the most physically fit guys made the cut this time. Well, they and Carl. Daryl always takes Carl on runs nowadays, like he wants to teach him as much as possible now that the kid’s seventeen and almost an adult.

“Hope so,” Rick says with a sigh. “If it storms, I’d rather have everyone out there on the fences, in case the power goes. Daryl’s team are all good fighters.”

“One less thing to worry about when they’re not out there, too,” Maggie agrees, then smiles mischievously. “Well, two, for you.”

Rick shakes his head. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says.

He does, though. He knows.

Obviously, he worries about Carl. The father in him has a hard time letting go of the boy Carl used to be, and he still catches himself treating his son like he’s a child. Carl tolerates it most of the time. He’s been very mature about life in general since leaving Alexandria three years ago. He lost most of his impatience and doesn’t get angry all that easy anymore, and he seems to understand why exactly Rick still wants to protect him from the world, just like when Carl was thirteen and still had a bit of childhood innocence left in him.

It’s all the funnier because Carl may be young, but he’s going to be a father himself, come winter. Enid doesn’t show yet, but it’s only a matter of time. 

Less obvious, at least Rick hopes so, is that he worries about Daryl at least just as much if not more. It’s not that he doubts the man’s ability to survive anything fate throws his way because fuck it, of course Daryl can survive. Out of all of them, he’s the only one who could probably make it on his own if he had to. He’s the last person Rick needs to be worried about, but unfortunately, his feelings on the matter don’t exactly follow the most logical paths.

“Everyone’s wondering when you guys gonna get married,” Maggie says with a glint of something like amusement in her eyes.

Rick wants to bluff, say neither he nor Daryl met any women they’d wanna marry. He wants to feign ignorance and change the subject. But he doesn’t. He’s perfectly aware of what Maggie’s implying. He also knows she’s not the only one who can see it, even if she’s one of the only people brave enough to ask, and maybe Rick’s been obvious about it after all.

There’s this... thing, between Daryl and him. Something they never bothered to name or address in any way. Something that makes Rick anxious and fidgety every time Daryl is out of his sight, outside the fences, away from the security of their home. Something that in turn makes Daryl calmer nowadays, because Rick rarely has reason to be out there anymore and so he’s relatively safe inside the electrified fences and the protective ring of the inner walls. This… thing. 

This precious, important thing.

“He’s not the marrying kind,” Rick says, instead of the hundreds of other words he could’ve used, instead of the hundreds of excuses and subversions, instead of pretending there’s nothing there where there is everything.

Maggie laughs softly. “You really think so? That why he’s carrying rings around?”

Rick starts asking, “what rings,” but he’s interrupted by a loud rumble in the distance. Thunder. It rolls through the air like an avalanche, like a roar of a mighty beast. Not quite close yet, but definitely coming, and soon. 

There are things which have to be done before the storm hits. Maggie nods to Rick and goes to tend to the windows and shutters in all of the houses, leaving Rick to find a task for himself. 

*

Rick heads to the basement of the main house to check the condensators, to see if all the cords are properly fused and wrapped in protective layers. It’s one of those things he knows how to do, one of those things he still can do to be of use at the farm. When he’s satisfied with their state, he moves on to the pasture with the intent to help herd the sheep to their barn, but it turns out Carol’s already got this. 

“You go on to the towers,” she suggests, “watch for the supply team. Michonne’s taking care of the horses with Eric, so you can just sit back and relax.”

“Easy to say,” Rick mutters. There are times when he regrets that he’s not allowed to take part in runs anymore, and now’s one of those times. He feels like a soldier’s wife or something. Like the only thing he ever does is wait for the men to come home.

True, it’s basically his job to run an entire settlement, but the thing is, it’s been a long time since anybody really needed him to do shit. Yeah, people like to come to him and ask his advice, give him status reports, offer their input. Rick has the final say in any and all of the hard choices made for the advancement of their home. He’s the one who sets the supply run schedules and chooses destinations based on the priority of needs, he’s the one who divides the spoils, he’s the one who accepts new people to the settlement or rejects them and then decides what to do with them. He’s the leader in a way that couldn’t be any more obvious to anyone who cares to look. 

But when a storm is coming and Daryl’s out there with Carl, Glenn, Aaron and Morgan; when they’re out there and Rick is here, confined to the safety within the double-layered concrete wall, behind electric fences and the perimeter of traps, well. It’s difficult to feel like a leader. He’s more like a princess trapped in a castle.

Helpless. And it sucks.

“Should I join the guys at the forward post?” He asks Carol who seems to be more up to date on the layout of their defensive forces even though Rick’s the one who actually signed on the rosters for this week. Also, every other week. It’s what he does.

She hums thoughtfully, apparently not especially concerned that he doesn’t remember which guardpost has which resources. “It wouldn’t hurt, I guess. Sasha’s team got the west tonight, the twins are manning both towers down south and I’m pretty sure the east’s well covered, too, so if you want to be useful, you can join Paul’s team at the gate post.”

Rick groans. “So he can make fun of me again? I swear, that guy’s a giant bully. I don’t know why nobody’s socked him in the jaw yet,” he grumbles.

Carol lifts an eyebrow. “You’re the only one who’s complaining,” she says. “Even Daryl’s got no problems with him. You sure it’s not you that’s the problem? You can be a hard man to be around.”

Rick frowns, but he knows Carol’s probably not actually serious. Well, more like he hopes; since they settled down here, he’s really been trying to become somebody people can sincerely claim they like. He thinks of Carol as one of his closest friends, a sister even, but just sometimes, he isn’t sure the feeling is reciprocated. Then again, Carol teases everyone, even if she’s particularly ruthless about it when it comes to Rick, always hitting him right where it hurts; it’s like she’s holding a grudge about something and takes it out on him via slightly-too-cruel jabs and jokes whenever she feels like it. 

Maybe he’s overthinking it.

“Besides, Paul acts that way around all the boys he’s got a crush on,” Carol adds after a moment. She smiles, and there’s no mistaking the warmth lighting her eyes. So she _was_ just teasing. At least this time. “I bet you’d have noticed that, if he was a woman making kissy faces at you.”

Rick rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. His weak spot for beautiful women is a well-known fact. He used to date Jessie Anderson for a moment there, before she decided it was time she tried independence for a change - and good for her, by the way. He had a brief thing with Michonne, but even though they have a son together, Michonne decided they worked better as friends; as always, she was right, and they’re still a happy family now without the kissing. Then Sasha took a bit of solace in his arms when her relationship with Abraham died a violent, explosive death, and she was very apologetic as she broke things off with Rick to take Abraham back. She still can’t look Rick in the eyes and avoids him more often than not, which makes him feel worse than the break-up ever did.

Rick doesn’t even mind that nothing ever came out of those relationships. He knows, he always knew why he didn’t try harder to keep those women by his side. He likes them, he even loves them in his own way… but none of them comes close to what Daryl means to him. 

_And that’s really the gist of it,_ he thinks as he walks towards the front tower. He likes going on foot, even though it obviously takes longer than if he went by horse or took one of the cars. The farm is larger than the Greene farm used to be, almost five thousand acres, stretching over the plains at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There’s a creek cutting through the farm almost in the middle, and Rick follows it now towards the gates. The summer’s been good for them, the water level in the creek is still moderate, and he doesn’t predict any risk of flooding. It happened, during their first Fall here, when they were all woefully unprepared for their new life; since then, Rick’s learned how to spot the warning signs. He doesn’t see any of them today. 

Maybe he’ll go fishing with Carl when he’s back. Maybe they’ll take Judith, too, and RJ. With luck, Daryl will tag along; out of them, he’s probably the only one with any real chance of catching a fish. Rick’s never had much luck, Carl is too impatient and the kids are very good at scaring off any fish within a mile radius. But either way, it’ll be fun.

He almost can’t believe it, but… they really are allowed to do things just for fun, nowadays.

When he finally arrives at the foot of the gate tower, the sky’s overcast with dark clouds. There’s no wind, no thunder, just the clouds, but Rick can feel the electricity in the air. He used to love storms when he was a kid, he remembers; the excitement, the danger he associated them with, it burned bright in his young soul. The world was different then, safer, and storms weren’t really a threat even though he lived in a very rural area. Now, he knows what kinds of damage storms can cause, and it’s sobering. 

He wishes Daryl and the others were home.

“It’s gonna be a big one,” Jesus says in lieu of a greeting, holding the heavy door for Rick. He usually does that; before, Rick used to think it was damn patronizing of him, but after what Carol said, he wonders now if it’s just the younger man’s way of showing affection by being helpful. Jesus just thinks he’s doing something nice for him.

Rick also wonders if he’d be so irritated if Daryl did the same thing for him. He quickly arrives to the conclusion, he probably wouldn’t; and at the same time, that there’s no way Daryl would do it. It’s not how they are. Daryl never treated him any different for his handicap, never mentioned it either. Like the fact that Rick doesn’t have half an arm anymore is something of negligible importance.

In a way, it’s true: it simply doesn’t matter. Rick’s still a deadshot if he needs to be, and he’s learned to do things efficiently with his left hand. He’s just as capable of killing walkers as he used to be, if not more thanks to the amassed experience. Yet, out of everyone, stuck in the same group as the children below twelve, Rick’s the only adult specifically prohibited from going on runs, and that stings because Daryl _won’t even talk about it._

“You think they’ll make it back? Before the storm?” Jesus asks, and Rick shakes his head to clear it from thoughts which might too easily turn bitter. 

He sighs. “Hard to say,” he replies, and follows Jesus up the ladder to the watchpost at the top of the tower. He doesn’t comment when the younger man helps him pull up onto the platform, just accepts the help, and then leans back against the wooden pillar. “Would be nice, though. Nobody should be out there in bad weather.”

“At least there hasn’t been any herd activity in weeks,” Jesus comments. He hands Rick a glass of watered down, sweet strawberry wine from last year’s harvest. They all drink it more for the taste and refreshing effect than the alcoholic content; it’s too diluted to even be noticeable anymore, really. Even kids can drink it. It’s one of Judith’s favorites.

Rick takes a sip and smiles. “Good job on the surveillance system, by the way,” he says and pats Jesus on the shoulder. Now that his attention has been pointed to it, he can see the signs. He easily notices the way the man flushes and his smile turns bashful in response to the praise. He fiddles with his hands like Daryl sometimes does when he’s nervous, and he looks anywhere but at Rick, unable to meet his eyes. Carol’s theory seems correct. Paul really does have a crush on him. 

“I’m just glad it worked,” the younger man says, though the pride at being praised is unmistakable in the way he can’t help but grin. “It’s mostly Eugene did the hard work, you know, we should all be thanking him.”

Rick’s ready to say something about accepting some Goddamn gratitude, but movement on the main road catches his eye. He grabs the binoculars from the nearby table, puts away the glass and looks down, and his whole body almost sags in relief, tension he wasn’t completely aware of leaving him in waves. There they are. He can count all of them: Aaron and Carl at the front, driving the wagon and laughing at something together. Morgan and Glenn flanking the wagon on their horses. And of course, there’s Daryl riding behind, protecting the convoy from anything - any _one_ \- in potential pursuit. All of them seem perfectly fine.

“They’re back,” Rick says, and heads down to the gate to wait for the away team, to greet them as soon as they arrive. He almost manages to fall down the bottom-most ladder in his haste, but Terry catches him and laughs at the display of clumsiness.

“I get that you missed him, but Dixon’s gonna kill us all if ya get hurt, boss,” he jokes.

“Shut it,” Helen admonishes the man, “you’re one to talk. You cried the last time Anja’s unit went hunting for three days. Compared to you, Rick’s been very composed.”

Anja Downey is Terry’s wife of ten years, and the two are incredibly devoted to each other; especially Terry doesn’t take separation too well. Rick thinks their situations really don’t warrant comparison. He also thinks it’s some sort of conspiracy. Why is everyone suddenly likening him to Daryl’s wife or something? He’s quite sure it didn’t use to happen quite so often until very recently-

His thoughts are interrupted when the gate wings slowly open. The wagon rolls inside, the horses neighing softly, just as happy as the drivers to be back home. Then the riders come right in, Morgan and Glenn, and they acknowledge Rick with smiles and nods of their heads before they ride further down the road, going in front of the wagon.

And behind them, Daryl gets off his horse, which immediately is tended to by Ash. Rick feels a bit sheepish: he knows the only reason Daryl didn’t ride straight home is because Rick is here, and he’s vaguely guilty about keeping the hunter from comforts of the homestead. 

But then Daryl draws him into an embrace. And it may be just a short, manly hug, far from anything either of them really wants, but Rick can’t help but notice he doesn’t even attempt to do the same with anyone else.

“How’d it go?” He asks when they part and step away to a respectable distance from each other.

Daryl smirks, self-confident and proud of himself. “Full success,” he says, soft enough only for Rick to hear.

There’s a roar of thunder just then, closer than any before it, and Rick jumps, startled, and trips over a patch of grass; immediately, Daryl’s arm goes around his shoulders to steady him. There’s a smile on his face, vaguely mocking, but mostly affectionate, and it’s been a long day, and an even longer summer, and Rick - he thinks, _enough is enough._

He kisses Daryl. Just a brief, chaste press of his lips against the corner of Daryl’s, too short, too shy maybe for a man in his late forties. But it does its job, and Daryl draws back, then looks at him, eyes sharp and piercing and intense - and he leans in and kisses Rick, this time, and there’s nothing shy about _this,_ about the way their tongues tangle and their hands wander and their breaths mingle.

_This,_ Rick thinks, kissing back without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Daryl’s waist, pressing into his hunter’s body to become as close to him as it’s humanly possible. 

And then, it begins to rain. 

**Author's Note:**

> Gift number two likely coming tomorrow: a porny one-shot.  
> Gift number three, the day after: a new chapter of The Shark Heart, which has been giving me trouble because the story takes place in summer and, well, I'm in a very Christmassy mood ;) but I'm working on it.  
> Maybe I'll be able to post something more, too. Who knows.


End file.
